Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 79413 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 397(@200wpm)___ 318(@250wpm)___ 265(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79413 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 397(@200wpm)___ 318(@250wpm)___ 265(@300wpm)
The place looks legit. What’s out of place are the people.
Three men lounge in one of the sitting areas, and none of them are wearing a suit like I would expect in a place like this. Two of the men are wearing dark jeans and black hoodies, and the other is wearing shorts and a shirt. All three men stare at me as if I am the one out of place.
I guess I am.
When I realize I’ve been standing here like a deer in headlights, I force my legs to carry me toward the front desk. A man and a woman stand behind the large wooden desk. Neither one of them greets me in any way. I’m guessing their customer service smile is reserved for their guests only.
“Hi, I have a massage session scheduled with the hotel manager, Mr. Grant.” I’m impressed with myself for keeping my voice even and strong.
Without a word, the woman nods and waves her hand toward the very back of the large space. She proceeds to walk me to a lone elevator close to the hotel bar. She types in a code on the panel, and the door slides open.
“Thank you,” I say as I step into the elevator on shaky legs. She spins around, still not talking to me, the clicking of her high heels against the tile floors fading away.
The doors slide shut, and once again, I feel like I’m about to wet myself. I’m not cut out for this at all. I’m a twenty-six-year-old grocery store cashier, not a secret agent on a mission to bug some manager of a fancy hotel.
Again, no music plays in the elevator like I would expect, and the smell is off too. What is that? I wrinkle my nose. It’s faint, but it’s nasty. Almost like rotten eggs. The scent disappears as the elevator moves up, and I quickly forget about it being there at all.
Closing my eyes, I lean against the glass panel, resting my forehead against the cool, smooth surface. I can’t do this.
The thought doesn’t have time to take hold. The elevator slides open with a ding. My spine straightens, and I ready myself to face whoever waits on the other side.
My eyes go wide.
I’m not sure what I expected, but a seven-foot bodybuilder in a black suit wasn’t it. His arms are folded across his massive chest, black ink tattoos peeking out from under his clothes.
This can’t be him!
I’m in so much trouble.
“Hi,” I whisper so quietly I’m certain he can’t hear me. “I’m the massage therapist.”
His lips press into a thin line, and his eyes move up and down my body like he’s looking for a threat. Then he simply nods as if to give me his approval to come in.
I don’t move. Frozen in place, I remain in the elevator, waiting for the floor to open up and drop me thirty stories to my death.
Mystery giant frowns before motioning for me to follow him. Fighting the urge to press all the buttons on the panel to make my way back downstairs, I force my feet to move forward instead.
I follow him through the spacious apartment, wishing I could appreciate being in a beautiful place like this. Unfortunately, appreciation is the last thing on my mind. Fear and uncertainty are taking up too much room.
The giant man leading me to what feels like my execution stops so suddenly that my brain doesn’t have time to catch up. I run smack into his back, although it feels more like a stone wall.
“Oh my God, I’m so sorry,” I yelp out.
Giant guy turns around slowly, a deep scowl on his face. He still doesn’t say anything, but the angry daggers shooting from his eyes tell me all I need to know.
“Everything okay?” a female voice asks out of nowhere. “Don’t scare the poor girl away, Tank. Mason is tense as it is.” A young blond woman steps out from behind Tank’s overwhelming silhouette. “Excuse the big guy. He isn’t used to company.”
My heart slows down just a little. At least now I know the giant’s name, and I’m guessing Mason must be Grant’s first name.
The woman seems to be about my age and height, but one look at her lets me know we couldn’t be any more different. Her light blond hair is perfectly styled, her fingers manicured, and her clothes straight out of a fashion magazine. She could walk down a runway in a few minutes and would be the star of the show.
“No, it’s my fault. I didn’t watch what I was doing. I’m sorry.”
Tank takes that as his cue to walk off, leaving me with the woman who is just as intimidating in her own way.
“No apologies needed.” Her red-painted lips turn into a courteous smile. “Mr. Grant is waiting for you in this room. Everything you need is already laid out.” She waves her hand toward the door we’re stopped in front of. I catch a whiff of her floral perfume, letting the pleasant scent calm me further.